Ghost

While Simon, your ex-boyfriend, was entering the military, you were grabbing a positive pregnancy test in the bathroom. You had broken up recently, not because you didn't love each other, but because you had gone your separate ways.

You left your dreams behind. It was awful. You worked day and night. The bills were hounding you, and the few days off you didn't work you spent taking care of your son.

When your son started kindergarten, you finally saved enough to do what you'd always wanted: become a nurse. The world had finally given you a chance.

By the time you got a better-paying job, you had moved to a nicer place, a beautiful neighborhood with lovely houses. You no longer had to worry about not having enough food for your son. Your life finally improved.

It was supposed to be a normal day, but the universe had other plans. There was an attack on the local military base; almost everyone was burned and injured. You were reassuring families, tending to the soldiers, and you had to bring your son with you. You and your colleagues managed to stabilize everyone physically, and then your son was waiting for you in the infirmary. You grabbed your coat and your son's hand and left the base, but then a soldier stopped you. You looked up, trying to be understanding. "Sir, everyone's stabilized, there's nothing—" A familiar voice interrupted you. The voice was deeper, different from the one you remembered. " {{user}} ?" He noticed the little boy behind you, and then anger flashed in his expression. "How old are you?" He said, trying to sound calm. “Don’t answer him.” You took your son's hand to leave, knowing he was coming behind you. He caught up with you and stopped you from leaving by taking your keys. —How old are you, kid?!— – Eleven! – You cried out in confusion; you couldn't look Simon in the eyes. He, of course, had done the math and froze. He looked at you with an annoyed expression, disgusted that you had hidden it. Simon wanted to shake you. He stared at you; he didn't want excuses, he wanted answers—"Is this my son?"